- 120 No, nor when supper came, nor after that, Still sounded in my ears, when I no more Could hear your footsteps touch the grav❜ly floor. Sometimes I lost them, and then found again; You changed the foot-path for the grassy plain. In those still moments I have wish'd you joys That well you know to honour: - 'Life's very toys Like whispers of the household gods that keep A gentle empire o'er fraternal souls. And while, for rhymes, I search around the poles, Your eyes are fix'd, as in poetic sleep, Upon the lore so voluble and deep, That aye at fall of night our care condoles. This is your birth-day, Tom, and I rejoice That thus it passes smoothly, quietly: Many such eves of gently whisp'ring noise May we together pass, and calmly try What are this world's true joys, -ere the great Voice, From its fair face, shall bid our spirits fly. ADDRESSED TO BENJAMIN ROBERT HAYDON The first of these two sonnets was sent by Keats with this brief note: November 20, 1816. My dear Sir- Last evening wrought me up, and I cannot forbear sending you the following.' In his prompt acknowledgment Haydon suggested the omission of the last four words in the penultimate line, and proposed sending the sonnet to Wordsworth. Keats re plied on the same day as his first note: Your letter has filled me with a proud pleasure, and shall be kept by me as a stimulus to exertion I begin to fix my eye upon one horizon. My feelings entirely fall in with yours in regard to the Ellipsis, and I glory in it. The Idea of your sending it to Wordsworth put me out of breath. You know with what Reverence I would send my Well-wishes to him.' The presentation copy of the 1817 volume bears the inscription To W. Wordsworth with the Author's sincere Reverence.' Both sonnets were printed, but in the reverse order in the 1817 volume, and the ellipsis was preserved. YOUNG Calidore is paddling o'er the lake; Dip so refreshingly its wings, and breast The widening circles into nothing gone. And now the sharp keel of his little boat Comes up with ripple, and with easy float, 20 And glides into a bed of water-lilies: Broad-leav'd are they, and their white canopies Are upward turn'd to catch the heavens' dew. Near to a little island's point they grew; Whence Calidore might have the goodliest view Of this sweet spot of earth. The bowery shore Went off in gentle windings to the hoar And light blue mountains: but no breathing man With a warm heart, and eye prepared to scan Nature's clear beauty, could pass lightly by 30 Objects that look'd out so invitingly The sidelong view of swelling leafiness, Which the glad setting sun in gold doth dress; Whence, ever and anon, the jay outsprings, The light dwelt o'er the scene so linger- And scales upon the beauty of its wings. ingly. He bares his forehead to the cool blue sky, The lonely turret, shatter'd, and outworn, Stands venerably proud; too proud to mourn And turns for calmness to the pleasant Its long lost grandeur: fir-trees grow around, 40 Aye dropping their hard fruit upon the ground. The little chapel, with the cross above, Upholding wreaths of ivy; the white dove, That on the windows spreads his feathers light, And seems from purple clouds to wing its flight. Green tufted islands casting their soft Across the lake; sequester'd leafy glades, Large dock-leaves, spiral foxgloves, or the glow Of the wild cat's-eyes, or the silvery stems Of delicate birch-trees, or long grass which hems 51 A little brook. The youth had long been viewing These pleasant things, and heaven was bedewing The mountain flowers, when his glad senses caught A trumpet's silver voice. Ah! it was fraught With many joys for him : the warder's ken Friends very dear to him he soon will see; so sweetly: His spirit flies before him so completely. And now he turns a jutting point of land, Whence may be seen the castle gloomy, and grand: How tremblingly their delicate ankles Into how sweet a trance his soul was gone, Made him delay to let their tender feet And whether there were tears of languish- Or that the evening dew had pearl'd their tresses, He feels a moisture on his cheek, and blesses 90 With lips that tremble, and with glistening That nestled in his arms. A dimpled hand, Nor will a bee buzz round two swelling Of whitest Cassia, fresh from peaches, Before the point of his light shallop reaches Those marble steps that through the water dip: Now over them he goes with hasty trip, And scarcely stays to ope the folding doors: Anon he leaps along the oaken floors Of halls and corridors. 70 Delicious sounds! those little bright-eyed things That float about the air on azure wings, clang showers: summer |